got up waaaay early so I could speak to Patty online (she gets net access from the dig about once a week) briefly before heading out to the Governor's Island thing.
Despite it being hotter than hell (and despite doing very summer-appropriate clothing and not jacket, it was still mens wear and I still wanted to die -- how did those boys do it?) I had a purely spectacular time.
The music was lovely. The people were lovely. Most people put in an effort, even those who really had no costume at all, to be festive and slightly formal and the place... well Governor's Island is just weird.
Now sure, some of it is that I'm all about stuff passing out of the world, so a former military base that no one has really figured out what to do with filled with buildings built over a 150 year span is totally going to be up my alley under any circumstances.
But I just wrote that damn fic set from 1920 - 1934 and that's pretty much what today was. And it was sometimes eerie and sometime sad, and often made me exclaim with the enthusiasm of an 8-year-old boy. I didn't really dance. I wasn't that particularly social or verbal and I didn't really wander off alone either, but somehow in the course of the day I not only found a lot of inspiration for future projects of several varieties, but I did what I needed to do re: the mood that came before, with or out of that story (grief, I will note, is so easy to write, because the creation of character is always an act of mourning, because they're not really here, now are they?). I don't really know what that was, mind you , but it's good.
After the event I had sushi with Kat and Mira and Fred and then took teh subway home. A half block from my house, listening to Kitty the Rose if Kilrea on my iPOd the skies opened. Blessed perfect rain.
Pictures soon.
A lot of pictures.
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